


Valley of Lights

by KeyDog (BannedBloodOranges)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Flashback Fluff, Grieving, Horror Elements, I don't quite know what this is, M/M, Marshmallows, Not Canon Compliant, Secret Relationships, Telepathy, Wakes & Funerals, dark!spock prime, if the blood hadn't worked, implicated loss of sanity, kirk dies, references to past background relationships, secret grieving, surreality, time jumps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-12 05:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19940731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BannedBloodOranges/pseuds/KeyDog
Summary: Nobody knew about them; she grieves alone.But she is not the only one.





	Valley of Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Seems like I need to get Star Trek out of my system.
> 
> I own nothing, non profit fun only.
> 
> Bold text = flashback/memory.

_And we feel it like the shiver_  
_Of a passing train_  
_That other life_  
_Deep underground_  
_You and I_  
_Side by side_  
_We are the next time 'round_

Vienna Teng, _In Another Life_

* * *

**A handsome boy with a hungry smile.**

**She had banished him instantly from her reality (or had tried to, at least.)**

**"Never got that first name," he had said, smiling like an idiot, and damn herself, for her lips had curved, a half-laugh rising in her throat as if to be the first of many.**

* * *

“I’m scared, Spock,” he’d said. She couldn’t hear him, but she saw the shuffle of his lips, radiation eating into the cells and peeling the skin shallow from his cheeks. She read it with her eyes, and her mind stimulated the sound. As a child, she watched films on mute, imagining the diction, the delivery, the _expression._

Spock crowded the glass. She could see the twitch of Jim’s head, the slide of his palm down the surface. Through the warp of the door, could he see her? His eyes, still so blue, flickered up past Spock, locking onto her for a secondary moment. The air shivered with the shimmer of all that was unspoken and she covered her mouth, for she didn’t trust herself not to cry, not to scream.

* * *

At Jim's funeral, Ambassador Selek was a lick of withered silk amongst the elders.

Lines ran like tears in his skin. It was _not_ Spock. The eyes were thinner, the mouth tighter across the long chin, a cold galaxy in his eyes. He was bent by age, but Nyota could imagine he had once been taller, his arms and legs thin like birch branches and hanging too long on a tall, feline body. As an elder, it was if the bark had been stripped away, left only the wire and dust beneath.

Jim had said his eyes had been warm, twinkling like an indulgent grandfather. From what she could see, his were impenetrable, a flicker of white light hiding somewhere within the dark of the iris.

He called himself Selek. She accepted that name. Not Spock, whose energy run volatile beneath his skin, the taste of it a tingle on her mouth when she had kissed him in secret after the clouds of Vulcan had disappeared into debris. If anything, Selek was neither Vulcan or human, for he inhabited a grey space for which she had no reference, nor had any desire to understand.

In Selek's age brewed a depth of emotion like a long-dormant storm, and all around him, a telepath or not, the air throbbed with it.

Spock had delivered the eulogy. He was the second in command, it was his duty to do so, and he stood above them all, the words stilted and cold in his mouth. Selek’s head was bent, the crease of his eyes closed tight.

* * *

**They were nearly thirty. They didn't have to sneak around like teenagers, slipping silently in each other's quarters after hours. They were both single, both adults, both of working mind and consent.**

**But there was an anxiety that swelled in their stomachs whenever they passed on the bridge or transported down to alien planets. Jim was impulsive, cared too much with his hands, watched too intently with sharp eyes. He was easy to read but difficult to decode. The trust between them was implicit, raw, fresh in the months since the half-drunken shore leave where McCoy had bailed on Jim to spend the fortnight with his daughter. Nyota, single for nearly a year and still smarting, had received a comm from the bridge as she'd packed her single bag.**

**"Fancy some time off, Lieutenant?"**

**There had just been the two of them, exhausted with the onslaught of the service, wrecked after Nero and the weight of a starship on their backs. Hiking, campfires and toasted marshmallows; not her idea of an ideal shore-leave, but she was heart-bruised and far from home, and he had promised a bar crawl here and there.**

**She had nothing to lose, and Jim, Jim was a _friend._**

* * *

Leonard's blue eyes were overly bright, burning, burnished with unshed tears. Nyota knew the language of the tongue, but she had once prided herself on the language of the body, and Leonard looked as if he would crawl out of his uniform, looking at everyone with utter, utter _hatred._

During Spock's speech, he had snorted in disgust and shoved past the people gathered to the drink’s cabinet propped at the back. Maybe he didn't mean to do it, but he clipped her shoulder as he strode past. It was short and painful, and her stomach riled. Leonard paused and inclined his head in her direction.

Did he _know?_

Nyota didn't want those eyes turned on her.

She straightened herself up and ducked past him to the restroom. To her relief, it was empty. Lavender and white tiles, impersonal.

They were all so cold, so violent. All of them, even _her_. They were all so shiny and new and Nyota thought not of the prospects they once had, but of the _damage_ they could do. To others, to each other.

She gripped the sink with both hands, retching, trying desperately to settle her breathing. In her head, she counted back in Romulan in all three dialects. Vulcan lullabies and Klingon war songs and Jim, Jim's stupid song -

Nobody out there knew about them. They crowded Spock and Leonard and even Chekov, but they saw through her like a thin tape of plastic. Nobody knew that _she_ -

* * *

**"I'm tired of sneaking around, Jim."**

**She sat cross-legged on his bed, her bare feet pushed up into the Starfleet standard issue sheets. They were thin and unbreathable but the rough scrape of fabric was enough to trigger all sorts of memories. Memories of Jim, mostly, sweat and sex and happiness.**

**Jim was sat against the "Captain's Privilege." It was what they called the enormous circular window that fed out a view of the stars, unique to the quarters of the superior officer. Minus the private bathrooms and the sonic shower, it was the one perk Jim always indulged. Most nights she would find him there, waiting for her with a drink or a book or even dinner.**

**But now Jim was naked, his knees under his chin, looking small against the expanse of black filigreed with whips of silver stars. As beautiful as it was, the sight left Nyota feeling lonely.**

**"I know." He murmured. She swung her legs free. "And we will be open about it. I promise..."**

**"But when?" She tugged his command shirt over her head. Unlike Jim, she couldn't bare herself to the window like that. She needed to feel protected, if only with a thin layer of gold cotton. "I don't want to feel like we're doing anything wrong. We're professionals, for god's sake."**

**"Tell me about it." His smile was a sweet wink of teeth. "Best Officer in the fleet. Unparalleled ability in subspace lin..."**

**"Jim." She halted him firmly. "I want an answer, not a reference."**

**There was a softness in his face, an uncertainty. How could Captain Kirk, so brash in his day to day life, be so unsure?**

**"Ny." He turned to her. "Four more months, that's all I ask. Then, we can start the five-year mission. Then, we can be honest about us. The higher-ups are watching. They don't trust me, Ny, no matter what medals they pin on my chest. I don't want to fuck up your chances, or mine, or..."**

**Typical Captain Kirk and his distrust of authority. Surely, they were beyond _that._**

**"So this is for your career?"**

**"No." There was a credible edge to his voice, a visible hurt. "It's for you."**

**"How do you think it sounds?"**

**He lowered his head.**

**"Bad. But I'm not the linguistical genius."**

**"Jim..."**

**"Please, Ny." He rose, crossing the room to squeeze her shoulders. "I don't want that future threatened. The future with you in it."**

* * *

"Miss Uhura?" Scotty. The lilt of his accent was weak. His face had been sallow and red, years added to the sag of his eyes. He tapped the door lightly in a whisper. "Miss Uhura, are you alright?"

She gazed in the mirror. Her hair had sprung loose from her ponytail. She sniffed, palming it back. Mascara was flecked wet under her eyes.

"I'm okay," She lied.

"Lassie?" The door creaked open, only an inch. Scotty's voice was warm, warmer than the entire room combined. "I'm not peeking, I swear. I just heard..."

"I'm by the sink." Her throat jumped with a hiccupping sob. She pulled down her uniform. Steel grey, sombre wear. "There's nobody in here. You're safe."

The door opened all the way, and there stood Scotty, looking so human and small it hurt.

"Oh, lassie," he whispered, shaking his head. "Oh Nyota, I am so sorry."

She curled up her body, small, smaller into herself, her fists coiled tight into her stomach.

A whine broke between her teeth, agonised.

 _If he touches me,_ she thought; _if he touches me, I'll snap. I'll come apart like elastic._

"Nyota..." He said her name again. It pierced her. In her mind's eye, she saw Jim. _Nyota, I love you. I'm sorry, I'm such a fuck-up, you need -_

"Nyota." Scotty touched her arm, and she sagged.

Alone, they stood together, his arms awkwardly around her, as she sobbed with the white lavender tiles for company. The fire was in her throat and eyes and god, _bring him back, bring him back bring him back bring him back..._

* * *

**It was some shore leave, what with the rain hammering on the roof like that. Nyota staggered in, holding the soaking heft of her hair in one hand. Jim was on his hands and knees, poking at the grate. The wood crackled and fell away.**

**“You call this a vacation?” She hauled the sweater over her head. The neck, too tight for the rest of her, suddenly stuck. Everything was damp sheep wool knit, rough on her cheeks.**

**“What? It’s culture,” Jim said breezily.**

**“Jim,” she said, muffled.**

**“Thought you might like a change from meal cards and floor heating…”**

**“Jim!” She lost balance. There came a clatter of a poker and acute swearing in standard English as she stubbed her toe on the bed.**

**“Ny!” His laughing face came into view. “There’s a trick to getting that off, you know.”**

**“What, with scissors?” She blew her hair off her face. Jim folded the jumper under his arm, spying her vintage NASA t-shirt with a whistle.**

**The cabin was charming, she supposed. Maybe Jim’s kind of charming. Rugged maybe, all battered around the ages, but in the centre was a hearth that roared warmth. It was such a stupid, sentimental thing she almost opened her mouth to counter her own thoughts, but a marshmallow was shoved quickly in her mouth.**

**“You’re thinking,” he warned.**

**“So?” She mumbled through the sticky crush of it. It was toasty. Jim was baking marshmallows like a Boy Scout. “You think thinking is too much for your…”**

**“Ny.” He smiled at her. “Relax.”**

**“Hm.” She swallowed. “I am relaxed.”**

**Jim sat down on his beanie bag. Nyota followed, tucking her legs beneath her. It was like an antique harlequin novel. Confessions in the rain and then a liaison on a bearskin rug in a wooded cabin. But Jim wasn’t addressing the cliche. In fact, he wasn't talking at all, just watching the rise of flames in the furnace, pushing marshmallows on sticks.**

**“Do you like them gloopy?”**

**“I like them soft.”**

* * *

The days after the wake passed numbly, long hours on an empty ship. Her memory was a valley of lights in the ensuing darkness, and she lived in her thoughts, lain in bed with a pillow squeezed against her chest and the taste of burnt marshmallow in her mouth.

* * *

**Still a handsome boy with a hungry smile. She didn't see that smile so much. On her back with woolskin roughing her neck, she spotted a flash of it as he popped up between her legs, but the ends of his lips were soft and crinkled and gone was the initial harshness of it, that closed off cold. He pulled at her jeans, tugging at the hips.**

**"Is this okay?"**

**She raised an eyebrow.**

**"What is okay?"**

**"Us being here." He leant over her. He looked her seriously in the eye and swallowed. "You and me."**

**"I'm sure."**

**"Ye-ah."**

**"One of the things I'm good at, _Captain._.." She teased out the words, marvelling at the shiver in his shoulders as she said it. "...is being sure of myself." Still, she touched his face, felt the dry of the cold on it. Her tone dropped, sweet. "Are you okay with this?"**

**"You bet." He murmured. Nyota hummed as she pulled him down, his face locked into her neck as if it belonged there. Jim kissed her neck, her chest, moving down until he caught his lip on her belt buckle (he swore in Romulan. To show off, she knew.)**

**Nyota had always favoured the skies, be it the vast spans of her homeland or the black starlit webbing of the galaxy. But here, hidden away in their small shack in a corner of the world, she found it tolerable. Nice, even, to be beneath a body under a log cabin ceiling. It was a different sky altogether, and still hers.**

**Maybe he was hers, as well.**

* * *

Her comm beeped. 

Nyota stirred. Her dream rippled, fell away to the twilight of her bedroom.

"Uhura!" A rapping on her door. "Goddamn it, Uhura!"

"Doctor McCoy?" 

She stumbled to her feet, wiping the backs of her eyes with her fists. 

Maybe it was the cool of the air, maybe it was the shock of waking up so quickly with empty arms, but a chill ran up her neck and back down again.

Something was terribly, terribly _wrong._

* * *

_In Selek's age brewed a depth of emotion like a long-dormant storm -_

* * *

"It's the life support systems for Khan's crew," Leonard's panic had steeled her, pulled out her professionalism in a comforting guard. He was striding down the hall, his hand closed around her arm. They were the only two commanders in the docked ship, save Scotty, who'd finally left his miserable tinkering for some well-needed rest ashore. Leonard booted up the PaDD. Nyota squeezed his shoulder, imploring. "They've all been turned off."

"How is that possible?"

"I don't know," He was visibly at a loss. "That's the goddamn truth of it, I don't know!" He tapped at the screen too hard, fingers trembling. "We were certified to have the whole lot of them transported to Starfleet headquarters. The ambassadors said they were to take care of it. This...this violates so many regulations, I-I..."

"Bones..." she began, and he visibly flinched. Nyota bit her tongue through and tried again. " _Doctor._ I'll go to the ward. See what I can do."

"No." He shook his head. "There could be something down there, Uhura. I'm not gonna lose..."

"If it's a malfunction, then it has something to do with computers. There may still be time to reverse it. Comm Scotty, tell him to get downstairs. I'll meet him there."

"It'll take him twenty minutes to beam aboard..."

 _"Bones."_ She took his face in her hands. He stilled, all the violence strung in his body falling to a simple quiver beneath her palms _._ Her fingers curled around his ears, her thumb catching a stray tear. For a moment, it was like looking in a mirror, and she almost faltered, almost.

"Please, Leonard." She whispered. "Trust me."

* * *

The system had failed the lights. The cryo-chamber bore the cool of a walk-in freezer which had just been switched off. The pods were lined wall to wall like coffins. The red blink of the emergency light highlighted shadows of discarded glass, the small door of the power panel hung open and swinging lightly.

The glass cracked under her boots. She knew where she was going before she'd even reached it.

Khan's eyes were bulged, staring, mouth askew. His neck was crushed, bruised down to blood. The enforced glass surrounding him had been punched through.

Nyota didn't scream.

A shift of silk twitched her sensitive ears.

Selek was sat in the corner, bone fingers steepled below his chin. Under the hard tilt of his brow, there was a glitter of life in the dark punctures of his eyes.

Her chest rose and fell as she glanced at the panel. All the keycodes, the safety measures, all the protocols engineered by Scotty had been bypassed. The life support systems had been overridden and shut off.

Nyota turned back to the door. Her bare legs brushed the cold glaze of Khan's pod and sent goosebumps high on her skin.

"Lieutenant." He rasped. She knew the words she was supposed to say. _What have you done?_ or _why are you here?_ She opened her mouth; closed it again. There was nothing to be done, nothing that could –

"It was necessary," he spoke again, closer than she imagined. She turned to find him mere inches from her, a shimmering line of grey and black, his forefingers pressed together. His voice cracked on the final syllable. "It was _logical."_

Nyota thought of Kirk, of _Jim_ , coming to for two seconds, pale and stretched out on the bed at sickbay, barely awake enough to squeeze her hand and hum her name. No-one saw. They were alone when he did it, and when she called the medic, he'd been dead.

But seeing Khan twisted in the shell of the pod gave her nothing. She felt _nothing_ , looking at it.

The elderly hand hovered over her face. His nails were clotted with skin and blood.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered, her fingers a brush on her phaser.

He observed her silently as if weighing the options.

“You will not speak of this.” He lowered his hand. His gaze was as incising as any pressure of his fingers on her temple. “I believe _you_ understand.”

* * *

**They’d woke, tangled in blankets that itched her bare legs, marshmallow stuck in her hair and Jim trying to pick it out.**

**“I’ll wash it out. You’re just making it worse.”**

**“It’s almost out, look…”**

**“Jim…”**

**“Hm.” He stuck his finger in his mouth. “Sticky.”**

**“Jim!” The spare pillow suddenly became very handy. She mushed it into his face. A hard crack of his skull against the pine floor made her start, her tone twisting from playful to panicked. “Jim!”**

**Laughter bubbled from beneath the fated pillow. She threw it aside, massaging his head for any lumps.**

**"I love you," he gasped out, then froze. Nyota’s hair swung past her ears, the sticky piece of candy still clotted in her split ends. Jim opened, then closed his mouth. Opened, closed. Opened, closed.**

**She stared at him blankly.**

**"I’m sorry,” he said it outright. All the strange bravery they’d found between each other on this one shore leave dissolved like mist. His body closed up and he pushed away, holding the blanket up and around his waist.**

**"Jim." She spoke, and he tensed. "Come here."**

**"Uhura..."**

**"Nyota." She cut him short. "Come here, Jim."**

**She placed her palm warm against his chest and felt the bruise of his heart against his ribs. He just stood there, open and hollow and with Nyota's gaze taking him all in.**

**He mooched slowly forward, like a kid, as if half expecting a slap.**

**Instead, he got the pinch of her nails in his shoulders, her arms closed commanding around his neck. He took a deep breath, released it, and then he hugged her back, hard, as if he would crumble and come apart in her arms, fused with nothing but the weak solvents of ego.**

**He opened his mouth to speak; she kissed him instead, favouring the silence.**

* * *

"Yes." His dry lips curled in the slightest suggestion of a smile. Her brain tingled, a thrum across her temples. "I think you do."

This was a creature from another world, another time. He did not belong here, in _her_ universe. He was a trespass, an unwanted judge, a violation. She snapped her memories tight, even if the shadow of them still played on her face, even if the drag of his pupils across her hairline prickled uncomfortably.

"Kirk wouldn't have wanted this."

Her comm beeped; a faint confirmation from Scotty. Selek's attention flickered to it and then back again to her.

"I believe I am more than proficient in knowing what James T. Kirk wanted," was the bemused reply, and she didn't need five years of study to guess what he _meant._

 _"_ You've wasted it all," she spat back. Even if she felt pity, she felt revulsion first. "Everything you stood for, everything Jim told me..." He stiffened at the name. She didn't care. "... _gone_ in a matter of minutes."

"Hm." He placed his arms behind his back and ambled past her, suddenly impossibly old. "That may be so."

In him, he carried an entire narrative. The strength and age of it run off him like waves, swaying about the air and seeping into her head and muscles, making everything lax, blurred at the edges. She gritted her teeth, trying in vain to root herself to the spot.

 _"Miss Uhura?"_ Scotty's call was now a shout. In the background, she could hear McCoy swearing. Selek paused, tilting his head to the sound. Nyota unclipped it from her belt, bringing it to her lips.

A cool hand touched her neck and applied _pressure._

The world fell away.

She was back in the valley of lights -

* * *

_"For god's sake, Scotty! Help me get her to..."_

_"But the pods! An entire crew, defrosted and dead..."_

_"I don't care about those goddamn monsters, just get Uhura to..."_

* * *

Who would do such a thing?

She wasn't sure if she remembered.

* * *

**"I don't want that future threatened. The future with you in it."**

Oh god, _Jim._


End file.
